


Blood_Water | Sephiroth

by Ego_Driven_One_Wing_Angel



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:22:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24932218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ego_Driven_One_Wing_Angel/pseuds/Ego_Driven_One_Wing_Angel
Summary: Citlali Sylea, a Second-Class SOLDIER, will jump leaps and bounds to reach her goals. But her hard-as-stone mentor, John Shir, doesn't see it that way. He's certain she's going to fail. Her lack of listening will but soldiers in danger, her rambunctious attitude lacking in finesse, and what she thinks is good is undeniable, not good.But Sephiroth, newly appointed propaganda poster-boy, may not think the same way.Everything seems fine, but there's one catch in it all. ShinRa's dirty deeds in Citlali's origins may prove to be fatal. Either for Sephiroth, for John, for Citlali, learning the truth will be the hardest task. They're looking for the last sliver of light in a room of darkness, but if they can't find it, what hope do they have left?What unformidable things will the three see, do, or hear in the time at ShinRa Electric Company?Only time will tell. The flames of Nibelheim proof secrets are dangerous.
Relationships: Sephiroth (Compilation of FFVII)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	1. 1.1

**John Shir said no, and it seemed all her trying was for nothing.** Three days ago, Citlali had been sure she had the promotion in the bag, but the harsh, cold way he said those words, she was more than certain her name would no longer be painted black on the board’s list. First-class, non-existent. Just another petty officer hidden in the Shinra walls.

“ _You’re not going to be first with how reckless you are_.” Those words cut deep. “ _I’m telling Director Lazard you’re not ready. You’re never going to be ready._ ” 

She wiped the stray tear falling, rolling her eyes as she tried not to let her cheeks swell. She should have believed everyone when they said she wasn’t going to make it, her aunt, her cousins, everyone in the slums who heard her SOLDIER dreams. Now it seemed even her own superior hadn’t even a smidge of hope, and she should have stayed believing it. She should have kept her head low, walked out of Shinra, and hid back in the shadows of the slums in Sector Five. Where no one heard the name Citlali Sylea. Where the ruins of Rubrum and Flavo were figments of stories, the summons, the love, the hurt, it wouldn’t have happened. None of it.

She could have lived.

But when John had said those words, she knew they were somewhat true. John Shir, the first-class SOLDIER, never lied, never strayed from the truth, never gave false hope. What he said was straight from the heart, no matter how brutal it seemed. And Citlali’s lack of attention nearly cost them the lives of B-team. 

Six people. Six people would have been dead under her if John hadn’t reacted so quickly. 

“ _You need to be mindful of the people around you_.” John had continued, stripping her away of her weapon, “ _If I was anywhere else, Citlali, you and every else under my orders would be dead_.” 

And he hadn’t even given her a moment to rest her case. One lecture, one heartbreaking honest confession, and Citlali were now in the training room, her knuckles bleeding as she slammed her fist across the simulation’s manufactured soldiers. They may have been fake, but every shred of pain, blood sweat, and tear, was real. A single shot to the side wouldn’t leave a bullet wound, but it sure as hell would feel like one. Sending you down for the count, the timer ticking in your ear as you shrugged off the pain.

Citlali had felt the countless shots of SOLDIER bullets, the impact of another fist slamming into her face. She had plenty of scars and cuts and bruises to prove it. Much more caused by the scientist’s ability to simulate real pain then the missions she had been sent out on. 

She only wished she could conjure up a John look-a-like. Take on the seven-foot beast of pure muscle rather than the small Kalm Fang dogs she was required to take on. Sure she might not have won, nor would she have a chance, but just one punch across his square jaw would satisfy her for the rest of her life.

But if she asked any of the leading lab assistant’s to make one, their laughter would just shrink her down more so than John ever could. Sure she barely reached the required height of five-four, but that didn’t mean her bite was as small. Or, so she thought.

The simulation conducted the ending ceremony, and Citlali’s harsh breathing filled the room as the lighting trickled back down to the normal walls of the training room. Stark blue. Wiring buzzing in her ear as she removed the VR headset. 

“One mission down,” Citlali pulled out her cellphone, peeking at the setlist emailed to her the night before. “Three hundred and forty-two left to go.” 

She grimaced at the idea. Fully knowing it was damn near impossible to do that many in a single day. A punishment, most likely. John knew how much Citlali resented the mindless training simulations. Every day, at the bright hours of six am, she’d come into the training room, groggy, yawning, John’s voice alerting her to prepare. It would take a surprising punch or two to wake but at some point she’d finally get the hint. John watching from the sidelines. Checking her vitals as she progressed higher and higher.

“This is stupid.” she’d say through the glass walls. Unknowingly staring in the corner, VR set strapped to her eyes, other equipment twirling on her arms and legs. She looked like a badly-done robot of Mako juice. “Why can’t we go do something else? Get a mission like all the other trainees.”

But John would simply say, “you’re not touching materia and mako orbs with a ten-foot-pole. Get back in there and do it again.

And day in and day out, Citlali would fight in the training rooms until her arms grew sore and her legs burned. And even then John would push her more. Waiting until she completely cracked under the pressure.

Citlali bet that was John’s point. Waking her up from her dreams. Bring her back to reality.

_Three hundred and forty-two missions._

If there was a sure-fire way to make Citlali see her errors, the mindless bore was definitely not the way. But she needed to get back in John’s good graces, and the only way to do that was forcing her way through said mindless bore. Hell, even if John didn’t appreciate it, Director Lazard would. Maybe she’d even get a few other nameless first class SOLDIER to turn heads.

Maybe she’d finally get a different superior officer to watch over her training. But she doubted that. She knew for certain they chose John specifically to mess with her. No other SOLDIER was as much as a hardass as he was, and giving how much he liked challenges, he thought taking the rambunctious second-class would be an interesting task. But know it seemed the two of them were regretting their choices.

Citlali didn’t need to prove anything. If she made it to third, to second, riding her way towards first under a SOLDIER like the others. It meant she was good enough to be there. John just was an obstacle. An obstacle she badly needed to punch.

But her fingers burned just thinking about it, and she hesitated to start up the next task. Waiting until her phone reminded her of the unreasonable amount of missions John had signed her up for. 

Citlali would be there all day, but that was the point. John was pissed. He wouldn’t outwardly tell her to fuck off, but he’d make her days a living hell, occupying her until her fingers broke and her bones grew weak. He’d keep her busy for damn sure, and three hundred and forty-two missions were the best way to convey his feelings without telling her.

The email neatly signed with SOLDIER-First Class John Shir, was the formal way of saying _you’ll regret this_.

But that was the thing. Citlali never had regrets. 

She didn’t need to prove anything, but it was nice to showoff. So without hesitation, Citlali placed the VR headset over her eyes, the combat simulator starting, and one more whisper.

“ _Three hundred and forty-one to go_.”


	2. 1.2

**Citlali kept her distance as John entered the room.**

From the moment she heard his footsteps, the familiar thud of a heavy man, the breathing set beside her, the overwhelming sense she was not yet welcomed, her back straightened, stiff, and she would have puked on the floor if it wasn’t Director Lazard’s office. She even felt as if her stomach caved in on itself as if she hadn’t eaten in days. John’s overbearing military persona had her on edge more than she cared to admit, and even more so now that he was pissed. His voice losing what little warmth it possessed.

“No.” He said flat out, not even giving the Director time to issue any orders or ideas. “I’m not letting her back on the field.”

 _Ouch._ She swallowed hard. Citlali should have figured.

But that hadn’t hindered Director Lazard’s original plan. Merely shaking off his commanding officer’s orders with a shake of his head and a weak smile. The same persona Citlali had seen when she was promoted. Undeniably fake.

“Even faced with an unattainable amount of work, you still say no to your trainee?” He asked, and John gave one small glance to Citlali, who didn’t say a word. She knew better than to argue in front of the Director. Even giving lip in the comfort of their training room had sent CItlali down the path of extra assignments, in front of the Director’s face, she would be seeing literal Hell. An assignment list all wrapped up in a glittery green bow.

John’s brows furrowed slightly, “you didn’t actually finish all that did you?”

Citlali shrugged. Swallowing the lump in her throat. “Yeah,” she bit her lip as she remembered paying off the leading scientist to auto-simulate battle intel. Giving her a chance to get something to eat and take a nap. “In a way.”

John didn’t have to pester any longer, he knew she was lying the moment she started talking.

“I trust in my decision. It remains no.”

Citlali rocked on her heels, like a child being reprimanded. Or a child stuck in the middle of a divorce court, awkward, painful to watch, and she’d have paid to just leave the room. Let John and Lazard figure things out amongst themselves. She hadn’t a need to watch the bickering, especially if it was slowly ripping her report piece by piece as if she wasn’t standing there in the first place.

The two of them often argued over the fate of Citlali’s career, especially fieldwork in the slums or the sectors following the Turks. Simple by all means, but John knew, even at the most basic level, Citlali would find some way to disobey orders. And that was her biggest problem. If only she figured it out.

Citlali raised her hand, “if I have any room to speak-”

“You don’t.” John said, “keep quiet.”

She rolled her eyes, going back to the semi-obedient student she was meant to be.

But it was as if her lifestream ancestors were guiding her because Floor Fifty-Three’s odd, yet charming, director had walked in. An angel of auburn hair, tattoos decorating her neck and shoulders. accompanied by a stack of papers, a low-level Turk following behind, and a heavy scent of vanilla mixed with tea leaves and honey. Citlali sneezed, and John gave the newcomer a stare.

Citlali, as did most of the other Soldier personnel, had a brief encounter with Adara however-her-last-names-pronounced quite a few times. The reasoning being Adara was the headmistress of SOLDIER’s floor. Close enough to the main floor, and far enough from President Shinra’s office to have a sense of privacy they used to say, but sadly, Citlali had yet to move to fifty-three, but John knew Adara well enough. Or so said the rumors circulating Shinra headquarters.

“I apologize for interrupting,” She said with not a hint of remorse coating her honey voice. “I have news, said to be delivered to you as soon as I received it.”

She placed the reports down, and Citlali almost took the chance of escaping, but what she said had all their hairs standing on end. The air now tense, and John and Lazard kept their mouths shut long enough for Adara to deliver the unexpected news.

“Sephiroth and the others failed negotiations, sir.”

Just as they all feared.

“You sure?” Director Lazard asked, fully knowing Adara wouldn’t lie. Not about something as extreme as an upcoming war. At least, Citlali hoped so.

“Positive.”

John knew just as well as the rest of them, that first-class SOLDIER personnel would be on the front lines no sooner than tomorrow morning. That meant Citlali’s training just increased ten-fold. No more battle simulations. Only war. If Citlali had done a terrible job during her mission to the wastelands against beasts, he had an idea of how she’d go about things in a real battle. Where people truly died, where her actions and attitude meant the most.

He took one gander at her.

“What had been the real reason you called us up here?” John asked the Director, gaining some sort of solemn look in return. _Fear._

“I was originally going to have the two of you escort some Shinra personal to Junon, but it seems our plans just took a different direction.”

“It seems that way.”

He gestured for the Turk and Adara to leave, waiting until the door shut closed behind them before he proceeded.

It seemed the caved-in feeling returned, and Citlali almost threw up again.

“First class John, Second class Citlali, I’m having the two of you report to Sephiroth the moment he returns. The three of you will be on your way to Wutai first thing tomorrow morning. O-six hundred.”

Citlali’s jaw locked, as did John’s. Both for completely different reasons.


	3. 1.3

**Eight months before, Citlali would have found herself begging to be brought onto a mission with a first class SOLDIER, the ones where danger was inevitable and where she could really practice the skills she was taught, but now, sitting in the back of a flyer with fan-favorite Sephiroth, she wanted to hide back in the training rooms for just a little bit longer**. The air was undeniably thick with fear. Sweat coated her fingers, her shoulders shaking any time the helicopter flew over a thick sheet of green forestry below them.

Wutai’s cities inhabited the west hemisphere of Gaia. Days, perhaps weeks away from the comforting smog of Midgar. Much more natural and secluded, where foliage left the streets in darkness, how the moonlight pitied the travelers who dared travel alone, where mako energy ceased to exist in the stone structures of the king and the ninjas who inhabited the villages. Completely different from the bustling city of Midgar’s plate.

But the shiver of war kept her from believing reality, at some point the ships would stop and Citlali’s skills would be put to show. Finally meeting up with the other three helicopters now following close behind. With John and his fresh set of troops, the other second class partnered alongside her, and enough infantrymen to cause panic to any low-leveled village in Wutai. She was expecting war, and war she was going to receive.

That morning’s lecture went through one ear and out the other, as disappointing as it sounded, and it was completely obvious to all of them she hadn’t heard one word he was speaking. Citlali tried to keep her eyes open as one of the lower class packed her sword, how easily she fell asleep for a few minutes the moment her back hit the wall. Citlali made sure to focus on John’s unnaturally uptight, early bird commanding, but it proved difficult when the sandman’s dreams filled her mind.

 _Don’t do this, don’t do that, keep your communication set on and don’t run off on your own._ Simple. The usual bantering she always heard before a mission to fight the beasts outside the Sector Five slums. She only wished it was something else, a little more demanding and forewarning of what was yet to unfold. Something. Maybe ridicule her for her hair, the lack of supplies in her belts, if her sword was sharpened to standard.

Citlali’s heart plummeted. Had her sword been repaired since the last fight? She couldn’t remember. If only John was there to remind her if she had gone through her task list as she was instructed. She tried to go through the day, her battle in Sector Seven, the food on the train, her shower, the report. Her hands clenched, shaking, and it seemed her nervousness was beginning to become contagious.

“Stop.” Citlali let out a deep breath as Sephiroth let the words trail into her ears, through her limbs, burrowing in the quiet ears of the rest of the troops sitting behind her. She had never heard him say a word. Only watched him on the screens in her grandmother’s home. Seen him in silent pictures. The silver-haired Soldier who seemed to be rising in the ranks faster than anyone else would have thought. “Stop shaking,” he said again, and Citlali was too scared to think what would happen if she hadn’t, so she did.

Swallowing hard as she tried to focus on something else. Like breakfast pancakes or the sweet music that played during fairs in Sector Eight. She never got to go, but she always heard them. Down below as she focused on training in her apartment or reading on the different species located in Gaia. All the useless information piled into her head that seemed to be doing nothing for her except making a fool of herself in the eyes of one of the best SOLDIER ShinRa had to offer.

“You’re making it worse,” Sephiroth’s voice was the only thing filling the air other than the deep helicopter buzz above them. Deep and articulated, matched his outer demeanor almost to a perfect tee.

“Shaking.” He further explained, the uncanny ice-green of his eyes hitting Citlali dead on causing a bit of that fear to build back in her adrenaline. “You’ll get tensed up and you won’t want to move when we land.”

Neat, she wanted to say, but it was hard to speak. A lump caught in her throat piled with the anxiety and overwhelming sense of doom made her want to stay silent. The first time ever a situation had her mouth kept clean shut, and she was alright with it. It was hard to say anything in front of Sephiroth anyway. One wrong word and her reputation would fall in his eyes for the rest of her career. Similar to how John was known as “hard-ass-Shir” to a majority of the second class.

Much thanks to Citlali who had started that nickname.

Now anyone who had come into ShinRa had already an idea of what he was like before even knowing him. A hard-ass who made sure all your reports were painfully honest with the sting of a slap courtesy to all the pretty adjectives he’d sprinkle in to prove his point. How many of her files had the word reckless filtered in? Or something vaguely similar?

Reckless-Citlali didn’t have as much as a ring to it, but she bet it wasn’t going to stop John from using it in their training sessions. That especially dry sense of humor that pissed people off. How tasteless it had become as the years passed them both. But she shouldn’t have been too upset, everyone in ShinRa had some bitter form of humor. Either especially dry or dark, or both. Citlali wondered where she fit in.

_Where Sephiroth fit in._

She tried not to make it obvious as her eyes fell upon him.

Two years ago she would have done anything to find herself in her current position. Sitting less than three feet away, the questions of a fangirl setting in her mind and the idea that any woman in the Silver Elite would be begging to find themselves in Citlali’s place. Oh, how the other girls would kill her if she didn’t make at least a single move, or worse, kick her out of the club.

Sephiroth no longer focused on the objects outside the window, instead, kept his eyes shut, as if he was merely sleeping in his seat, arms crossed over his chest, still, his shoulders moving impeccably slow compared to the vibrations of the floor. Unlike the other soldiers resting, whose bodies were trembling from the helicopter buzz.

If it was anyone else, she would have commented on it.

John perhaps. He was already used to the exaggerated tales and theories coming from her mouth, how those white lies coated most of her stories, the complaining and uninterested whine in training rooms. A perfect example of an irritating comrade. No wonder John tried to keep her busy. One spare second and she would be back as a thorn in his side pestering him like a toddler.

Citlali tapped the boy on her right. Quietly keeping to himself as he read a book, Loveless, before he noticed the gentle taps on his arm. Silas Chapman. A 3rd class SOLDIER who had been in the same ranks as her since she joined the ShinRa Army. They were roughly the same age, but you couldn’t tell that by looks alone.

A stark difference really. She was tinier than average. Stunted since grade school and never left the adolescent age of thirteen in both looks and personality. Silas was big. Much like John must have been at that age. Thick arms of pure muscle, sharp features, scars littering his skin in glistening wounds, the cold eyes of a soldier with nothing to lose. Both Silas and John could throw her out a window without breaking a sweat. Overall intimidating, and it was stupid for someone like Citlali to press those buttons.

Her lesson should have been learned the first time she had come in contact with Silas, and it started with a fist to her face on the second day of training. Easy punch. Silas hadn’t hesitated.

The days were much easier then.

“Want to play rock, paper, scissors?” She asked, Silas’s eyebrows furrowed. “Or thumb wars? I can play whatever you want to play.”

He shook his head immediately no. “Aren’t you too old to be asking questions like that?”

 _Lame_.


	4. 1.4

**Much like the others, Citlali had zero time to react as the helicopter spun out of control.** Smoke building in the air, the heat of fire pressed on their skin as one disastrous explosion left their engine in a hazy mess of memories. Swinging them like ragdolls before the crisp crunch of ground impacted their helicopter, leaving the ones alive in a heaving disarray of madness.

Citlali’s hand was pressed against her left ear, that she could still feel. Blood oozing between her fingers as a sharp ringing fogged her brain. The sky was filled with a thick layer of black smoke, gasoline burned in her nostrils, the small pieces of metal stuck in her shoulder as she plummeted into the grass with the rest of them. 

It had been so quick, a matter of minutes to move. The whistle in the air and helicopter four and one were shot down in succession. Citlali hadn’t even a second to see the disaster of two and three, and she could only keep her hope as she let her fingers sink into dirt. The moist mud grounding her back to reality. How the grass tickled her forearms, the minor explosion lying rest to the damaged flyer. She could barely hear the voices behind her.

Blurry. 

“Citlali?”

Nothing.

The ringing kept her still. Nauseous and incoherent. 

“Citlali?” 

Fingers stung her shoulders as Silas hit her. Leaving bloody fingerprints upon the open shards. But it seemed to do the trick. The pain drawing Citlali’s attention to something else. The ringing still persistent in her ear as she got on her knees, wobbly, holding onto his arm as the smoke escaped down into her lungs. 

“You’re going to be alright,” Silas said. If Citlali hadn’t known better, she would have thought it was pity. But there was no sympathy. Ever. The boy born of rock without a sliver of empathy in his near six foot frame. “We lost the pilot in the crash. Few are injured, but Sephiroth said we’re close to Rocket Town. The rest of us can make it before Wutai troops arrive if you get off your ass.”

She was going to kill him. 

Silas whistled through the haze, “she’s fine!”

But Citlali wanted him to define fine. If she couldn’t gain back her hearing before they reached town, she’d be left behind with the other injured men. Shipped off back to Midgar all before she even tasted the battle field. Those training sessions and simulations would all be for nothing, and if John-

No. John was alive. If she made it out, Hard-ass-Shir definitely survived. There wasn’t much that could throw him off his large heels and a pity missile launch sure as heck wouldn’t put him down. Not by a long shot.

Silas had left Citlali hanging as she tried to ground herself. One foot after the other. The earth like mud against her boots, how the gas exploded behind with short lit fuses. The trail of smoke high in the sky giving off signals to every friend and foe who dared to look for them in the middle of the forest.

She was not fit to fight, not yet. She just needed a few hours and the ringing would stop. She was sure of it. 

But Sephiroth seemed to have other ideas. 

Citlali had barely registered the feeling of his gloves wrapped around her wrist, pulling her fingers from the blood upon her ear. Almost instinctive, his voice low and just as foggy as her brain. She blamed the explosion, but it was doubtful she’d hear him clearly under any other circumstance. She was always lost in some sort of trance whenever she saw him in tv. A sharp intake of breath would be the only thing her grandmother would hear from the couch as she turned the news off.

“I’d rather you not,” she said. “Berate me I mean. I’m alright.”

But she wasn’t. The blood spilling from her ear was enough to tell her inner ear was torn. Either from the noise of the blast or the impact, she was screwed. It would take weeks, months before her ear would return to normal, and that was even uncertain. She had seen the infantrymen come in with the same problems and they never returned to work the following day. Fired by the men who promised to protect them. 

She knew John wouldn’t betray her like that. He was a pain in the ass, but his loyalty was unfaltered. To his men, to his job, to even her if the time came to it, maybe. Sephiroth was a different story. She only knew his looks, the small curve of his lips when he smiled in the public’s eye, his brows barely furrowed with an attitude like a feline. 

Silas’s fingers snapped near her ear.

“That hurts you know.” Citlali said, staggering back in efforts to part herself from not only Silas, but Sephiroth’s touch. It was odd to be handled. 

But it hadn’t faltered either of them. Sephiroth’s slow-built smile curved slightly at the corners. “Your hearing is already coming back.” He stepped closer, closing the gap between them. How tall he was compared to her. 

She swallowed hard.

“You’re going to be alright.” He said.

As eerie as his demeanor played, she felt the sincerity. And for once, she stopped shaking. Lazily following behind as they entered the forest. 


	5. 1.5

**Rocket Town quickly housed the injured soldiers before they even had a chance to thank them.**  
The walls keeping them warm from the chilly mountain air, how sweet the meadow flowers made it smell. Much better than the smoke they left behind deep in the forest. The smell still stuck on Citlali’s clothes as she took a seat in the lobby, gladly taking one of the cold rags the inhabitants began to hand out.

Her ear still hurt. No longer ringing when they reached the third mile, but it had proved her hearing wouldn’t return to normal, not for a few days. Silas had periodically snapped in her ear as they walked side-by-side, every mile or so to retest her response. They were always dull, fogged and she was pretty sure the constant snapping would make her headache worse. 

One of the lobby workers had seen the tiny shrapnel pieces lodged in her back, through her sweater where tiny spots of blood darkened the blue. Threading singed, overly saturated with the smell of burning metal. Even her skin was coated with a light layer of soot. Darkening her olive tone as she tried to relax on the chair.

Tweezers plucked at her skin in a few moments time, taking their sweet time to pull out the shards. Some as big as her thumbnail, others as small and thin as a pine needle. Thankfully, they were skin deep. Quick and painless, her hearing, however, was a different matter, and she was hoping Sephiroth would have forgotten her predicament before they arrived in town. 

But just like John, he hadn’t. 

“You’re staying here.” He said. 

CItlali winced, both from the rag placed on her head and the words. “I’m not staying here.” Snapping, her words cut like silver and much more pronounced then the slurred words she had been giving out that day. The Silver Elite would be damned to know the way one of their members spoke to him. She was tired, hurting, and as nervous as she felt before, she needed to be there. “I’m going. You need men. Most of them here can’t walk more than a few miles and you are sure as hell not going out alone, who knows what numbers the other copters lost.”

Sephiroth’s brows furrowed just slightly. Almost as if his facial expression hadn’t moved at all. 

Citlali didn’t make the situation any better as she stood up, the height difference prominent. How tiny she was in comparison in both size and skill. 

John was a beast, a seven-foot-tall, two-hundred pound man of pure muscle. Sephiroth was much more lean, athletically built, a few inches cut short compared to John, but it didn’t take away the intimidation. Not by a long shot. It was stupid to even go agaisnt the words of a first class, to go against anyone above your rank. But it was a lesson Citlali hadn’t learned, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to start there.

“John was right about you,” Sephiroth spoke with the same amount of confidence as he always did. Unmoved by her speech. “Stubborn.”

“So what?” 

_ Ouch.  _ If past-Citlali somehow mastered the ability to time travel, she’d be kicking present-Citlali's ass. The posters on her teenage wall spoke of nothing but admiration for Sephiroth, and she  _ dreamed _ of being able to tell him how much she would love to share a cottage in the middle of bum-fucking-nowhere with him. Yet, there she was, dismissing his orders as she did John’s. As if her own plans were far more important and serious than a First-Class SOLDIER’s direct order. 

Especially Sephiroth. The man anyone worked under without a single doubt in their mind. Citlali would have done so too, but the pounding in her head was telling her to fight. Go find John. At least find the wreckage and maybe she could get some sort of clarity.

“I’m not staying.” Citlali continued. The aches in her back now becoming prominent. “You can tell me no, that’s fine. You can tell me to fuck off for all I care and tear me a new one, but I’m going to leave this town, and it’s going to be with or without your permission.”

A small chuckle escaped him. Sending shivers down Citlali’s spine. That intimidation was back, ten-fold. The grace of laughter coated with something mischievous. “Alright.”

Citlali let out a breath she wasn’t aware she was holding, like a burden had been lifted off her shoulders the moment he spoke. Her body had gone incredibly stiff. The panic of past-Citlali returning to finish the job spooking her to stay quiet. To not utter even a single word. She didn’t have to beg, or plead, or even bribe the guy to let her join.

He just said  _ yes _ . And it somehow felt worse than a no. 

“Why?” Of course she just had to say it anyway. Her impulse was as uncontrollable as her addiction to gambling. She always had to roll that final die, even if she just won hundreds. The high just as sweet in the action. “You’re not tricking me are you. Not pulling my leg so you and John can have a laugh about it later?”

Citlali briefly forgot John never laughed. Hardly showcasing anything other than a low-satisfied sigh, sometimes going as far as rolling his eyes at Citlali’s childish jokes or puns. He didn’t even give her the pleasure of a pity laugh. As stern and stoic as the rumors made him out to be.

Sephiroth had parted before she could ask him another set of unrelated questions. Perhaps, for the better. They had already wasted enough time resting in the Rocket Town Inn. A little R and R never hurt anyone, but when a rendezvous point needed to be met, resting rivaled your enemy. John and the others were still somewhere lost in the mountains, as bruised and battered as the rest of them, and most likely heading to the exact same location Sephiroth had disclosed earlier that morning.

Citlali only hoped all her guessing was correct. 

She tried not to take too much time as she grabbed her weapon, the standard second class sword now covered in soot and damaged in the crash. The handle designs ruined beyond repair, and she’d be issued a new one the moment they returned to Midgar. Only, she wasn’t leaving for Midgar, and it was going to be longer than a few days before she’d walk back into headquarters. She only hoped it was a sharp as it still appeared to be, and scurried off to catch up with Sephiroth and Silas before they left her behind

It had been a few hours. Walking underneath the hot sun, bypassing common roads and streets to avoid detection. Listening to the creatures who roamed the woods, the dust sticking to their boots, and the roar of water not too far from them. They were close. Eerily close to the whipping white waters, warning them to stay away. They’d reached Wutai’s continent sooner than expected.

There wasn’t much conversation. Only the occasional intake of air. Citlali’s booming headache like a heartbeat, throbbing with every step. 

It didn’t help that her hearing was still subpar.

But Silas, how she sympathized for him. Burns. Crimson against his bronzed complexion. A distinct line from where his metal bands had come in contact with his skin, leaving perfectly shaped circles now rubbing against leather. IrritatedIrritated from not only the blazing sun above them, but the constant picking his fingers had caused.

She bet it hurt, much worse than the aching pain in her ear. She always knew he could handle pain. Unnerved by the needles Shinra dispatched or the fire of being punched in the stomach. Coming back up without so much as a whine from his thin-shaped lips. How many stories those scars could tell. How similar Silas was to John. 

A big brooding man who thought pain was beneath him.

Citlali wished she could pull that off. 

Sticking her ground and letting the swing of a punch take her down. Experience pain differently. Instead she panicked anytime a doctor had given her a vaccination. The mako shots, needles and boosters never tired her. Adrenaline rushed to her heart whenever she was called into the medical unit, the scientists poking and prodding her with every unimaginable tool until she met their standards. She even flinched at a punch. Not something an upcoming first-class SOLDIER would do. 

They made it look all too easy. Swallowing fear that is. 

Sephiroth, John, Angeal and Genesis, the four faces of SOLDIER hiding their pain, their loss. Like nothing. Citlali stayed up too many nights wondering how it would change her. How she too would quietly smile in the cameras until the lights went off, revealing the sorrowful eyes of hurt and tragedy only when the curtains closed. How power ultimately corrupts them. How envious they’d become to want a normal life.

Citlali had already planned to never marry even before she signed her contract, but being told a hard and distinct  _ no _ made it all the more delicious to consume. The forbidden fruit. Always. A perfect red apple that stayed beyond her fingertips, so painfully wanting her to take the leap. But she didn’t dare step over that bridge.

_ Not yet at least _ .

Citlali had almost walked into Sephiroth’s arm. Too lost in her thoughts and too hard of hearing to experience the deep and guttural growl escaping the forest. Close enough to listen in on the drips of it’s saliva hitting the gravel, it’s tail whipping through the leaves with sharp flicks, cutting branches in its wake.

Silas raised his gun. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey ya'll! This is a fanfic posted from my Tumblr (Ego-Driven-One-Wing_Angel). It's me! So hello! If you're one of the few who have not originally spawned from Tumblr, be sure to check it out! I post headcanons/imagines/drabbles and fics of all our favorite Final Fantasy character by requests. Thanks for coming to check this story out!
> 
> Much love,  
> Kitty.


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